


Young God

by lonelyfanfic



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Gay Bar, Gay Pride, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Neil Hargrove Being an Asshole, POV Billy Hargrove, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24173248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyfanfic/pseuds/lonelyfanfic
Summary: Billy gets kicked out of the house for the night courtesy of Neil's fine parenting and finds himself at a gay bar in a neighboring city. And you'll never guess who he runs into there...A short story about two high-school rivals, self-discovery, and acceptance.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 12
Kudos: 109





	Young God

**Author's Note:**

> This story may or may not stay as a one-shot...I have a second (and final) chapter in the works, but I dunno if I'll ever finish it.
> 
> Story title and lyrics in the beginning are from "Young God" by Halsey.
> 
> Also, I don't own this show or any of its characters (obviously). Hope ya like!

_But do you feel like a young god?_

_You know the two of us are just young gods_

_And we’ll be flying through the streets_

_With the people underneath_

_And they’re running, running, running again_

_-_ Halsey

The first and only “rival” that Billy made at Hawkins High was none other than Steve Harrington.

While groupies like Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins clung to Billy like mold, completely in awe of his “exotic” background, athletic prowess and the natural charisma that he could flick on and off like a switch, Harrington didn’t seem to give two shits about him. 

Which suited Billy just fine. He really couldn’t care less. At all.

Billy went on ruling Hawkins High with an almost vengeful fervor while Harrington seemed to accept his new social status with Wheeler always by his side. Never saw one without the other.

Until one day.

“If I see you back in this house before sunrise, boy, I will skin your damn hide and sell the Camaro. Now. _Leave_.”

With red-hot pain pulsating through his left eye and jaw like an everlasting echo, Billy managed a curt nod before storming out of the house. He could still feel Max’s shocked gaze scorching his back. His mind was completely numb to what'd just happened, to the irrevocably altered dynamic between him and the shitbird.

Well. Maybe now she’d stop giving him so much hell.

This thought – less of a fully-formed thought and more of a nebulous scrap of consciousness – faintly drifted in and out of his brain before the blankness bled back in. He was hardly aware of stumbling into the front seat, the Camaro thundering to life and roaring down the street, away from the shoddy little rental that he was forced to call home, away from Cherry Lane and all of its ratty residents.

And soon enough he was hurtling right past Hawkins too, and out onto the fairly deserted highway. Billy wailed out a whoop while Metallica shredded his speakers.

_Take a look to the sky just before you die_

_It’s the last time you will_

_Blackened roar, massive roar, fills the crumbling sky_

_Shattered goal fills his soul with a ruthless cry_

The last time Billy had been kicked out for the night, he’d headed straight for the quarry and downed half of his emergency pack of beers stashed in the trunk. Now he was fucking sick of the quarry. Gotten drunk there too many fucking times. No, he needed fresh sights and fresh fuckery to get into. Billy sneered before immediately hissing as the torn flesh of his bruised lips split just a little bit more.

He had no fucking clue where he was going, of course. Just blindly followed the signs and soon wound up in the nearest city, sneering at what passed as skyscrapers here. Back home in California, he’d often made the three-hour drive from Chula Vista up to LA to see Matt. While LA’s skyscrapers honestly weren’t anything to whistle at, it sure beat this shithole.

Still, as long as he wasn’t in Bumfuck anymore, he didn’t give a rat’s ass.

He soon found himself coasting through a block of bars and restaurants. Too squeaky-clean and teeming with white collars. He'd probably get thrown out on the street.

The Camaro slowed down a little once he reached the seedier parts of the city, where the people understood and kept quiet about things. He squeezed the car into a tight space by the crumbling sidewalk, not bothering with the parking meter, and swung cockily into the closest bar. FLIX, the blinkering neon sign said.

Inside, Billy found that the bar wasn’t too crowded. The dance floor – if you could call the tiny square of space that – was currently only occupied by a few people swaying lazily to the music.

Billy saw several dudes openly grinding up on each other, sucking face, and pulling each other into the bathrooms. Well, he was in safe hands here, long as nobody IDed him or tried to grab his ass. A few people gawked at Billy, but he was otherwise left alone.

Billy slid up to the bar, doing his best to flash a charming smile at the bartender without ripping his lips wide open. “You got anything worth trying on the menu?” he drawled, making sure to slowly drag his gaze up and down the muscular ginger.

The bartender’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of Billy. “Jesus, you need to go to a hospital, kid,” he demanded, setting down the glass that he’d been wiping and crossing his arms. “The city hospital’s half an hour away, but there’s a 24-hour walk-in clinic just 15 minutes away by foot. They take cash.”

Billy shook his head, scowling. “I’m good, amigo,” he replied, emphasizing _amigo._ “You should see the other guy.” The bartender just shook his head.

“Seriously, kid, you look pretty fucked up.” When Billy didn’t budge, the bartender heaved a heavy sigh, running his hand over his face not unlike in the same exhausted manner as the police chief had done a few times thanks to Billy.

“Look, I’m not your parent so I can’t make you do anything, but you should go clean yourself up at least.” He pointed down the bar. “Not that you can miss them, but there’s a couple bathrooms down there.”

Billy smirked. “I’m touched by your concern but, again, I’m good,” he said, ramping up his honeyed charm to assuage the older man. “’Sides, I don’t wanna be interrupting any, ah, cruising that might be going on in there.” He waggled an eyebrow while licking his lips.

The beefcake just rolled his eyes. “Okay, kid, I don’t mess around with minors.”

“Oh yeah?” Billy sprawled his palms out on the counter. The throbbing in his jaw and eye still demanded most of his attention, but he fought to concentrate on the mindless flirting. “Do I really look like a kid to you, sweetheart?”

The bartender’s gaze shifted from Billy to someone behind him. “Hey, Joe!” he called out. Pissed, Billy turned around to see who the fuck this “Joe” was.

And found himself locking eyes with Steve Harrington.

Steve fucking Harrington. _Hawkins. Neil._

Harrington appeared just as paralyzed as Billy felt. Brown, doe eyes wide like a deer in headlights. His body angled as though he’d been heading for the exit.

“Joe, c’mere, man.” The bartender kept waving over. Very slowly, as though wading through syrup, Harrington trudged over to the bar and kept a wide berth from Billy. A mop of thick brown hair concealed the side of his face, sealing off his expression.

“Joe, take a good look at this wisecracker –” the bartender gestured to Billy, “– and tell me he isn’t a minor. Go on.”

Fuck this. He needed to get the fuck out of there before the infuriating humiliation – or was it the humiliating fury – of the situation exacerbated.

But then Harrington turned the tiniest bit towards him, and a large brown eye peered out wearily from that dark floppy hair. It fixated on Billy’s ruined face, on his swollen jaw and eye. Billy felt his muscles tense up, his fingers digging into the countertop.

Harrington’s expression remained impassive, his one exposed eye veiling his thoughts while simultaneously trying to read Billy’s.

But Billy himself had perfected his poker face long ago. It was one of the ways he’d managed to conquer every school social ladder he’d ever been forced to reckon with. He stared Harrington down, unwilling to lose the challenge.

Harrington lifted a hand and raked his hair back. Now both brown eyes were boring into him, doubling the intensity. His gaze finally migrated from Billy’s face to his chest, which was covered up for once (and hiding several more bruises and cuts).

Even as Billy’s busted lip pressed itself into a thin line, he felt his skin slowly grow warm for whatever reason. It didn’t feel as though Harrington was scrutinizing him, didn’t feel the heavy weight of judgment that surely would have emanated from his peers. Even though his visage remained expressionless, Billy was somehow confident of that fact.

Harrington finally turned back to the bartender, releasing Billy from the moment. “He looks older than me,” he said a bit hoarsely. Which was funnily true, even though Harrington was a year above Billy in school.

The bartender pursed his lips. “Normally I’d ask for an ID but…” he gave Billy a glance over. “You’ve clearly been through hell tonight, so I’ll let it slide this once.”

Billy attempted another signature smile of his, only to let out an odd grimace. “I’m so grateful I could kiss you,” he said wryly.

“Still can’t order anything from the bar though. You’re gonna have to get someone else to order for you. Anyways, good seeing you, Joe. It’s been a while.” The bartender nodded at Harrington before moving to the other end of the bar for new orders.

Billy stood there, the warmth from moments ago displaced by familiar tension. Now that the bartender was no longer there to serve as their buffer, the incredulity of the situation sunk in again like lead in his stomach.

This was his chance to leave. He didn’t know where he’d fucking go – there was no one he could turn to for a place to crash, no one he could currently stand being around with all the shit thrashing around in his head – but he shouldn’t stay here any longer.

Harrington was looking down again, his hands by his sides. There was something so resigned about his posture, so defeated, that instead of just walking out like he should’ve – “‘Joe’?” Billy felt his lip quirk the tiniest bit.

Harrington jerked up, surprise now plainly splashed over his features. “Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat, eyes flickering back to the counter. “It’s pretty anonymous.”

“You seem like a regular here.” Billy ran a tongue over his lip, tasting dried copper and heat. “Got a fake ID and everything?”

Harrington’s eyes flitted to the bartender still occupied at the other end of the bar, and Billy snorted. “He’s not listening,” he said flatly.

The two lapsed back into silence. Billy drummed his fingers restlessly, unsure why he was still here.

Except well…the cat was out of the fucking bag now, right? He was here, which meant Harrington now knew…and Harrington was here, which also meant...

“So, who’d you fight this time?” Harrington was pointing to his injuries and Billy scowled.

“No one,” he grumped. A pause. “Some dumbass from out of town. Don’t worry,” he laughed bitterly, “I gave it to him real good. Fucker looks even uglier than I do.”

“I bet he does.” Harrington’s lip twitched. “Sorry, this is just so…” he gestured around the air with a hand. “So weird…”

“Yeah, I know,” Billy interjected. “It's like having an out-of-body experience.”

“Yeah,” Harrington agreed.

The bartender slid back in front of them again. “You want a drink or something, Joe?” he asked. “You haven’t even had a single shot so far.”

Billy cocked an eyebrow. “Is that what ‘Joe’ normally has?” he smirked.

“It’s usually what he starts off with,” the bartender replied and Harrington blushed.

“Well, well, Harrington.” Billy swept an arm out. “It looks like while most of us are chugging down shitty Budweisers in the backseat, here you are spending coin at a place like this.”

The bartender seemed surprised. “You two know each other?”

“Sorta,” Billy quipped and Harrington made a face. “We’re from the same town,” he told the bartender.

“No, shit. Small towners, huh? I get it. It makes a whole lot more sense why you’re here.” The bartender nodded at Billy, who stiffened a little.

“I’m just here for a drink,” he snapped. Yes, he would plaster the mask back on even if he couldn’t breathe beneath the suffocating plastic. It was for his own good. “I don’t – I don’t swing that way.”

The bartender actually laughed out loud, and Billy tensed even more. “ _Really?_ Because weren’t you trying to get into my pants earlier? What was it you called me again? Sweetheart?” Fuck, Harrington was _really_ looking at him now. Billy felt the unblemished parts of his face flush. 

He forced his lips into a leer, blasting his infamous Hargrove assholery up a thousand percent and shedding all the charm he’d been oozing with earlier.

“I was just fucking with you man,” he jeered, leaning against the counter as though he owned the joint. “Like hell I’d ever suck cock.”

He expected the bartender to become angry and mouth off at him, maybe even demand that he leave the bar if he was going to be such a homophobe. That he could’ve lived with. Hell, he would’ve _welcomed_ it. Would’ve been forced back to the familiar warmth of his Camaro and away from Harrington’s big brown eyes and stupid hair and _knowing look._

What Billy didn't anticipate was the sad little smile that spread across the bartender’s face. He simply turned to Harrington, said, “I’ll get that tequila shot ready for you,” and shuffled off to assemble the drink.

Billy blinked. The explosion that he’d been waiting for never came, and the hard balloon rattling in his ribcage seemed to unwillingly deflate at once. His shoulders slumped, and damn, his face and chest really ached from tonight’s battle wounds.

“You don’t have to pretend here, you know.”

Billy glanced sharply at Harrington, who was staring steadily at him. The resignation that he’d radiated earlier seemed to have waned a little, replaced with…determination? Strength? His eyes seemed more alive. It was almost hypnotic.

“I’m not pretending,” Billy snapped, his jaw taut.

“Look, man, no one here’s gonna think any less of you. I definitely don’t,” Harrington said and Billy glowered at him, sure that he was trying to lure him into a trap. “Besides, no one would ever believe me even if I told, which I’d never do, by the way. _You’re_ the one more likely to get people to think that I’m…” he faltered.

“That you’re _what,_ Harrington?” Billy challenged, even as he knew he was playing dirty. “Not actually Wheeler’s boytoy?” Harrington stiffened upon hearing Wheeler’s name for a straight millisecond before his shoulders sagged.

“We broke up,” he admitted, turning away from Billy as though ashamed.

Billy didn’t quite understand the emotions skipping through him, breathing air back into the balloon in his ribcage. He didn’t respond for a moment as he struggled to process the feelings before shoving them back into the closet of his mind. “When’s that shot coming?” he demanded.

“Why, you want it?”

Billy snorted. “Is the sky fucking blue, Harrington?”

“Bottoms up.” Just like that, the bartender strode back over to them, setting down a shot glass, a wedge of lime and a plastic sauce cup filled with salt.

Harrington pulled out a crisp ten-dollar bill from his wallet and slid it across the counter. “Keep the change, man,” he said.

The bartender grinned. “And this is why you’re one of my favorites.” He pocketed the money and walked away again.

“Sweet.” Billy expertly shook out a line of salt onto the back of his hand, licked it off, downed the alcohol and sucked the lime wedge dry. “Fuck, I’m gonna need at least six more of these to get buzzed,” he moaned as he licked off the remaining salt and lime juice, his lips mildly stinging from the mixed salt and blood.

Harrington seemed engrossed by Billy’s tongue, his own lips slightly parted. Billy felt his stomach tighten. He wanted Harrington to keep staring at him like that. Pretty pink lips and big brown eyes…

Harrington finally yanked his gaze up after a long moment, his cheeks lightly dusted pink. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Got lost in thought.”

_Like fucking hell, pretty boy._

“So, you and Wheeler.” Billy turned around to face the main area of the bar, propped up on his elbows. Somehow, he’d grown a bit…comfortable here. The screaming urge to leave had shut up at some point. “Is that why you’re here all mopey, Harrington?”

Harrington blushed again. “Uh, yeah, that’s part of it, I guess.” He picked up the empty shot glass and stared into it. “I was the one that broke up with her,” he added as though to save face.

“You, huh? What’s the matter? Finally realized she’s too much of a goddamn priss? Bitch didn’t put out?” Harrington scowled at that, his eyes darkening. Billy felt heat tug at his gut. He rarely caught this side of Harrington, not even at practice.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Harrington warned, and Billy chortled.

“Jesus, didn’t realize you’d be so defensive of your ex-girlfriend.” He lifted his hands to show that he was backing off. “What, so you realized you weren’t into pussy after all?” He did his best to force that last part out jokingly, his heartbeat accelerating. He kept his eyes trained on the dance floor, at the random men swinging to the music with their drinks.

Harrington coughed. “Something like that, yeah.” At that, Billy snapped his head back to the brunette, whose own gaze still lingered on the shot glass.

“Oh.” That was all Billy could utter.

Harrington’s eyes drifted up to meet Billy’s, those deep chocolate pupils burrowing their way under Billy’s ribcage. He placed the shot glass down and fully faced Billy, who unconsciously found himself mimicking the gesture.

“Yeah.” Harrington’s gaze flew down to Billy’s torn lips for a moment before flickering back up to his eyes. “So, like I said, you don’t have to pretend here.” His mouth twitched. “Me, I’m done pretending. At least to the people that matter.”

And that, to Billy, was revolutionary.

To be able to rip off the mask and just fucking breathe.

To be able to hold hands out on the street and not in a dingy bar or a dark alleyway.

To be able to even _dream_ of such freedom.

“Harrington.” He didn’t know what else to add. Simply saying the other’s name seemed enough, and Harrington seemed to know it, too. The brunette just nodded.

“So.” He ran a hand through his thick hair. “You, uh, wanna get out of here or what?”

Billy laughed, and this time, the laughter felt unfettered from his usual demons. Clean and true. To Billy’s sick pleasure, Harrington seemed momentarily dazzled.

“And go where, pretty boy?” Billy teased, running his tongue over his lip. “I got a sweet ride waiting for us outside.” Harrington had never been in the Camaro before, and Billy fucking needed him whooping by his side as they raced through the night.

“Oh, I brought my car too. But, uh, we could go back to my place,” Harrington offered. “My parents came home this morning, but they should be gone by now.”

Ah, La Casa de Harrington. Billy’d been there once for his inaugural Hawkins party, right before Harrington’s popularity had plummeted (and Billy’s had soared). From his very faint memory, the place had been a fucking mansion. “Your folks off at some fancy shindig?”

“You could call it that, yeah. So, you in?” Harrington’s hands slipped into his olive-green bomber jacket, one foot propped up against the bar. Despite his nonchalant air, Billy could sense the other’s nervousness. He honestly felt the same.

“Well, I sure as hell don’t wanna spend the rest of the night here.” And he obviously couldn’t go back home, but there was no need to tell Harrington that just now. “I’m in.”

A radiant smile lit up Harrington’s face, and this time it was Billy who couldn’t look away. “Sweet. I’m parked a few blocks over; where’s your car?”

“Just right outside.” The two swept out of the bar side by side.

Billy thought about how this entire evening truly had been an out-of-body experience. The last hour had just turned his world upside down. The cold night air pricked his skin, making him that much more awake.

And the comforting body heat radiating off of Harrington next to him…almost convinced him that he was dreaming after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The song that Billy listens to during the drive is "For Whom the Bell Tolls" by Metallica, if anybody was curious.
> 
> Please leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed! That may encourage me to finish writing that second chapter. :) (Hint: it's about what happens when Steve and Billy go home.)


End file.
